Page 13 of Ghost

“Mm.” I towered over him.

His eyes narrowed further and with a final nod, he motioned for me to follow him out.

“St. James!” I gritted my teeth so hard the molars creaked. I knew Marshall’s voice better than I knew my fucking own.

I swung my head around catching sight of the dead man walking. “Watch your back.”

“Likewise,” I shot back.

His hand moved to the club on his hip, but the warden waved him off. “Enough,” he thundered.

Marshall was the first one I’d be tracking down once I recovered. He had been my biggest tormentor, but he wouldn’t be so fucking smug when I caught him on the outside.

The clock was ticking.

“Let’s go,” the warden snapped, shoving me roughly in the back to get me moving. The sudden impact sent a piercing pain through my ribs. My jaw clenched tightly as I struggled to keep from groaning out loud.

“Fucker,” I grumbled under my breath.

The warden knew what he’d done, I was sure of it when he started whistling that same fucking tune I’d been forced to hear for months. He continued to whistle as he led me down the long hallway towards his office where his receptionist was waiting with my papers.

“Angie, give him his shit,” he barked over his shoulder before slamming his office door.

“Here you go, honey,” she said, forcing a smile as she handed over the papers I needed to sign and the bag with my belongings.

She watched as I signed on the Xs, then tucked them away. “You can change in there,” she said softly, pointing to an open door.

Looking where she was indicating, I nodded. “Thanks, darlin’.”

I moved quickly into the restroom, wanting nothing more than to ditch the correctional orange jumpsuit and get back into my street clothes. It hurt like a motherfucker but having my boots back on my feet and the weight of my cut on my shoulders was more than worth it.

As I came back out into the reception area of the warden’s office, I wasn’t surprised to see they’d called in a guard to escort me out.

If they were expecting a fight from me, they were mistaken. I was on my best behavior as he ushered me to the front doors.

I was more than ready to get the fuck out of there.

“Stay out of trouble,” the guard shouted out as a parting gift.

I threw up my middle finger as I pushed through the last door between me and freedom.

He could go fuck himself.

Outside, the world greeted me with a bitch slap of frigid cold air to the face and snowflakes flurrying around me.

You’ve got to be shitting me.

Snow? I pushed my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone. “Fuck,” I hissed when the damn thing refused to turn on. “Of course, the battery is dead, it’s been sitting in a bag in storage for the last few months,” I muttered to myself.

I glanced back toward the prison, contemplating banging on the door and asking to use their phone for all of five seconds before deciding—Fuck. That.

There was nothing in the world that could get me to step foot back in that hellhole. Not a single thing. I’d hoof it to California if I had to.

“Fuck it. I’m a free man,” I declared to myself as I quickly crossed to the other side of the street.

I didn’t even mind having to walk, especially after spending the last few months in a six-by-eight box.

I kept that in the forefront of my mind for the next twenty-seven blocks as I made my way towards home.

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